


The Devil's In The Details

by honorablementioned



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Kiss, Foggy POV, FtM Foggy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Transgender Foggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honorablementioned/pseuds/honorablementioned
Summary: He's mulling over how the conversation could have gone - what if he had just steered clear of the topic and talked about her latest Pintrest recipe? What if he had asked about how his sister was doing at her new job? What if he had -What if he had not just squealed like a little girl when a man slams down face first into the concrete at his feet?--In which Foggy should realize that alley ways are actually path ways to Hell, bringing him to the Devil when he least expects it.





	

It starts with a visit to his mom's.

He's home for the weekend because it's the end of midterms, and he hasn't seen his mom since she dropped him off the day before classes. Foggy figured it'd be good to let her know he still misses her with more than just a text message.

And he does miss her - he misses her _a lot_. No one worries over him like she does and no one hugs like her, and no one definitely makes the best baked ham this side of New York. (one of the perks of being in a family of butchers) She's a big part of his life and he'll always be a mama's boy.

But even if he misses her and loves her to death and back, she's _frustrating_.

"Francine, please --"

"Mom, I'm not going to change my mind."

"But honey, it isn't right. I still can't believe they put you in that dorm." She's pacing, rolling her eyes, arms crossed and it's getting on his last nerve because this conversation happens every time they talk. It's a lot more grating in real life than over text, he forgets.

Foggy runs a hand over his face and holds back a huff. "Because I'm a guy. We had this talk - We _have_ this talk too often, actually."

"Well it just doesn't make sense!" She stops and turns to him and Foggy's heart always breaks because she looks so disappointed. He hates disappointing her, and it seems like that's all he does lately.

He stands up and shrugs on his jacket. "Look -- I'll give you the speech later, but right now I'm going for a walk. Okay? Okay."

Foggy doesn't wait for her reply and quickly walks out, not slamming the door behind him. Even if he's upset, annoyed, displeased even, he knows better.

\--

He wanted this weekend to be good. 3 months since he's seen his mom and all she wants to do is talk about this for the umpteenth time. And he. He's trying to be patient, to be fair. But he's also tired and doesn't need more of a reminder of what he technically is and isn't.

He's mulling over how the conversation could have gone - what if he had just steered clear of the topic and talked about her latest Pintrest recipe? What if he had asked about how his sister was doing at her new job? What if he had -

_What if he had not just squealed like a little girl when a man slams down face first into the concrete at his feet?_

It takes him a moment to regain his composure. The man - who has just fallen from at least 20 feet, Foggy's sure - is bleeding profusely onto the sidewalk. He's not even sure if the man is alive at this point, because the blood's starting to pool and Foggy's sure he's going to throw up.

Before he can get his phone out of his pocket to call the police - because _hello_ , possible murder right here - another man emerges. It's dark and Foggy admits he doesn't have the best eyesight, but he's pretty positive the conscious man has horns on his head. 

There's silence for a few moments before he decides one of them should probably say something. His throat is dry as he croaks out, "Uhm - Did - _You_ did this?" He waves at the man lying on the ground, still not sure if he's a technically dead man or not.

The man - with definite horns on his head, now that Foggy sees him come under the street light - gives a chuckle. A _chuckle_ , as if this were a funny situation.

"You could say that," The man speaks finally, and Foggy swallows hard. "I didn't mean to scare you."

If he could, Foggy would laugh right back at the guy. The guy probably didn't expect an audience, but then again, who does with this sort of thing?

Foggy shrugs, keeping his eyes on the man in front of him. "It's fine." It's not fine, far from fine. "But I mean - he might be dead--"

"He's not."

He's _not_? "You...You're seeing what I'm seeing, right? I'm pretty sure he's dead, man, considering the blood-" Foggy makes the mistake of looking down at the guy and can feel his mouth flooding with saliva in preparation for an up chuck. He witnessed a murder and now he's going to puke in front of a guy with horns. _Fuck_.

The man quickly makes his way over to Foggy and pushes him back towards the alley. He's smiling, a little awkwardly from what Foggy can see, considering the guy has a mask on and he can only see his mouth quirk up just a smidge. 

"I'd appreciate it if you'd not call the police." Foggy bets he would appreciate that, since the guy just murdered someone. Probably.

"Listen, I-"

"I mean, I'd really appreciate it." He sounds sincere. Foggy resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"You need to do better than that. I just witnessed something horrendous and morally I can't let you slide from this-"

The man presses a hand over Foggy's mouth - he really hopes that isn't blood on the guy's glove, good God - and smiles a little broader. "He's not a good man, okay? He's hurt a lot of people and I can't let him hurt more. He's not dead, I promise you. He's just going to be incapacitated for awhile."

Foggy can't believe what he's hearing. Quite frankly he can't believe any of this at all. 

The man steps back but keeps his hand on Foggy's mouth. "I promise you, I did not kill him. I won't kill him. You have to trust me on this."

Trust him, he says.

Foggy reaches up to pull the man's hand away, but the man's faster. He grabs Foggy's arm and twists, reaching for his other arm before pinning him to the brick wall of the alley.

"I don't want to hurt you," He whispers, "but you need to back off or else I'll have no choice."

Foggy closes his eyes and tries to get his breathing under control. He quickly nods and says _okay, okay_ before the man releases him.

He's off of Foggy, and Foggy doesn't move. He keeps himself pressed against the bricks. He wants to chance a glance, just a quick one-

But the man - actually, both of the men - are gone. The only thing that Foggy can see left of them is the blood on the sidewalk. 

He doesn't take a photo to prove that he didn't imagine the whole situation, nor does he look around to see if either of the men are nearby. He does turn around and walk straight home, not mentioning a word of the encounter to his mother when he gets there.

\--

It's been 2 months since he's visited his mom. 2 months since he's been taking testosterone. 2 months since the man with the horns. 

He hasn't been obsessing, per say, but he has been wondering. He's performed one google search since that night, simply typing in _Man with horns in New York_ that revealed very few results. One was an article about a building bombing, another was about a drug bust, but other than that he has very little evidence. He does seem to be real though, so Foggy counts that as something.

It's winter when he sees his mom again. He's spoken to her briefly since their last visit, ending on a low note. He let her know he was starting testosterone as soon as he was back at school and it's been a quiet affair between them since.

But she hugs him when he arrives and he can see the weariness in her eyes from the future conversation they both know they'll be having. He keeps his smile tight and his hug tighter, and begins to tell her more details about how law school is going.

His sister is there this time, having moved back home after her roommate announced she was getting married. She keeps the tension between Foggy and his mom to a minimum just by being there. She's a good wall to hide behind and Foggy isn't taking any chances this time around.

Foggy stays for a week and it's his last night before going back to school. He didn't want to stay for the whole winter break, not knowing if his or his mom's nerves could take the giant, blue elephant in the room. Foggy refuses to call it pink, not wanting to give his mom even the slightest of satisfactions.

He and his sister sit out on the fire escape. She's smoking, he's not; the occasional blunt is good while at his dorm, but he knows not to indulge himself at home. He refuses when his sister offers the pack and they sit there in relative silence.

The moon is high above them and Foggy wonders if the man with the horns is out there tonight. It's smokey, as per the usual of Hell's Kitchen, and Foggy's mind keeps drifting back to that evening with the man laying possibly dead on the sidewalk. 

"Something on your mind, kid?"

Foggy smiles at the endearment and shakes his head. "Just the usual, you know. I don't know when I'm gonna be back next time."

His sister nods in understanding, takes a puff, and lets the smoke out in one breath. "She'll come around. She's not used to men around the house."

Not since dad died, he muses, and shrugs. That shouldn't be an excuse, but he'll give it to her for the time being. His voice is deeper now since he started his hormone therapy, and Foggy knows eventually she'll have to come to an understanding with him. He can't be Francine forever, not sounding like he does and certainly not months from now when it's even lower.

He smiles at the prospect, ignoring the rational part of his brain that says it's not going to be all cupcakes and rainbows when the time comes. 

Foggy's sister takes one last puff and digs the cigarette into the pot next to her. She pats him on the shoulder as she turns to go back inside. She pushes down the window most of the way, to block out the sounds of the city coming inside the apartment but still leaves enough room for Foggy to come inside when he's done loitering.

The night is cold and Foggy closes his eyes to breathe it in. If he misses anything about his home aside from his mom's cooking, it's this; soothing nights, or as soothing as New York can be, with its bitter air and its fog ridden sky.

He smiles and hums in enjoyment, opens his eyes and looks down at his feet dangling off the edge of the metal railing -

\- and Foggy swears he feels the smile slip right off his face and onto the street below him.

His mind has a tendency to play tricks on him, he admits, but he can't be hallucinating now. This has happened before, this happened just 2 months ago, for God's sake. 

There's a man being pushed into the alley way next to Foggy's mom's apartment and the man - _the man with horns_ \- is the one pushing. He's snarling from the looks of it, with blood and bruises and he's choking the man with his arms and a pair of _sticks_.

And it had just been so nice and quiet a moment ago, too.

Foggy panics, because what else would he do?

He scrambles to his feet and pushes the metal ladder on the fire escape, unlocking it from his hold and it slides down to the street. He clambers down it and doesn't think before he's shouting, "Stop! Stop hurting him!"

It startles both of the men, and the man with horns turns to look at Foggy. He seems shocked to see him there. Whether he remembers Foggy from all those months ago or for the fact that someone has seen them fighting, Foggy isn't sure. Regardless, he's taken aback and the man he had been pushing throws the man with horns off of him.

"Shit," Foggy whispers. He swallows and watches as the man starts to stalk towards Foggy, now that the man with horns is on the ground and out of his way. 

And Foggy admits he's dumb, probably the dumbest man on the face of the earth at this moment, because now the guy walking to him looks like he's going to kill him and Foggy's just signed his own death sentence.

"I-" He tries and fails to speak, too shaken, but manages to slowly take a few steps back. He holds his hands up in defense, in fear, hoping the guy will change his mind. 

He's getting closer to Foggy and Foggy winces, preparing himself for the blow.

But it doesn't come.

He hears a shuffle, and a cut off shout. The sound of someone choking comes to his ears and Foggy dares to take a look, opening his eye just a bit to see why he wasn't just hit in the face.

The man with the horns is behind the other man, putting him in a choke hold. The man thrashes for a few moments before going limp. The man with the horns is smiling, but Foggy can't smile back.

The man is eased down to the concrete, the man with the horns looks at Foggy and keeps smiling.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," He says to Foggy, and now Foggy does give a small quirk of his lips.

"If you would stop killing people-" Foggy starts, but the man with the horns cuts him off.

"I didn't kill him." He says, and then adds, "Nor did I kill the other guy."

Foggy highly doubts both of those statements. 

"Okay, if you would stop _incapacitating people_ , then maybe we could meet under normal circumstances." He tries instead. 

It makes the man chuckle, at least, so Foggy thinks that this night hasn't been a complete disaster. He didn't die and he made someone laugh, it's sort of a win.

"Was he a bad man too?" Foggy asks after the man's amusement dies off. He glances to the guy lying between them, not dead - yet - and grimaces. He looks like a thug and Foggy hates to think that because he's the poster boy of _Please Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover_ , but in that moment he can't help but let his mind wander.

"He was," The man with horns confirms. He bends down and picks the man up, hoisting him over his shoulder like the man weighs nothing at all. It's a little awe inspiring and Foggy swallows harshly as his mind wanders even further, down a path he didn't expect to go tonight.

Well.

Neither of them move for another few moments. Foggy's still staring at the man with horns, silent, and the man in question stares back, just as, if not more, intensely. Foggy can't see his eyes, just like last time, but quirk of his mouth draws his attention.

He's not a clean cut guy; stubble and shadow run across his jaw and around his mouth. Foggy doesn't know if it's jealousy or heat coiling in the pit of his stomach at the sight. One day, he muses, he'll have that for his own.

He decides he doesn't want to know which way he means it. 

The man, if on cue, breaks their stare and hoists the man higher over his shoulder.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't go to the police."

Foggy should. Foggy should have done it last time. But he won't.

"Just, don't kill him?" He tries to appease. The man walks to him and presses his gloved hand over Foggy's eyes, and thankfully Foggy doesn't feel blood this time.

"I won't," He promises, in a hushed tone. 

Foggy doesn't open his eyes when he takes his hand away, letting the man escape just like before. He doesn't tell his sister what happened when he climbs back up the ladder and into the apartment. He doesn't feel regret when he reads the local news the next morning.

_LEADER OF SEX TRAFFICING RING FOUND TIED, ON THE VERGE OF DEATH, OUTSIDE POLICE HEADQUARTERS.  
MYSTERY FIGURE, THE DEVIL OF HELL'S KITCHEN, STRIKES AGAIN!_

\--

He turns on his notifications for every news report involving The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

It's not an obsession, it's an interest. The man is interesting - a vigilante, a crime fighter in his own right, even if his methods are way less than legal. Foggy can admire the dedication to keep the city safe, despite the fact that he disagrees with everything else the man stands for.

There isn't much on the man before this incident. Foggy remembers the few articles that he read months ago, but he had hoped there would have been something different under this name. _The Devil of Hell's Kitchen_ is pretty specific. 

It's possible that he doesn't do this as often as Foggy thinks. The guy fights like a pro, if what he saw a few weeks ago is anything to go by. He's swift and tactile and the way he moves so effortlessly is breathtaking.

If, you know, Foggy was into that. But he's not. He is definitely not thinking about how amazing it was when the man lifted that guy like he was nothing, nor is he thinking about how nice his mouth looked with that 5 o'clock shadow. He's not, honest.

He's thinking about how he is, in fact, the dumbest man in the world - not only for almost getting himself killed, but also for overly admiring a man who dresses like the devil and goes around in padded leather fighting crime.

Foggy thinks he couldn't be any more pathetic.

Oh, how wrong he is.

\--

The morning that he's roughly through 9 months of testosterone, he wakes up to find a few sparse hairs on his cheek.

It's not a beard, not even close, but it's progress that he's had fantasies of since he was 15 years old.

He celebrates by going into the city that night. Foggy thinks he's earned a celebratory drink, not only for the hair on his cheek but also for the fact that he has successfully passed his first year of law school, with only 2 more to go.

It was either cry for joy or drink for joy, and he's had enough crying to last him a lifetime.

He goes to his usual place, Josie's, because the drinks are cheap and the company's cheaper. Josie, the woman who owns and runs the bar, has come to know him over the last year and tolerates his drunken stupor. So if he has too much, at least she won't throw him out.

Foggy's been there for a few hours now, drinking cheap tequila and gushing to Josie about how he'll soon have such a nice beard that lumberjacks will be jealous. She cuts him off around midnight, thanks the Lord he doesn't have a car, and gives him a glass of water to sober up enough to get off his ass. 

With a stumble out the door - _finally_ , he can hear Josie say - Foggy giggles and takes a deep breath of the murky air of Hell's Kitchen. He figures a trip to his mom's is in order. He mentally pats himself on the back for letting his sister know to put the key under the mat.

One last look towards Josie's and then he's off into the city. He's still reeling and bubbling from the excitement of the day, high hopes following him with every step he takes. He's a mile or so from his destination and keeps his pace slow and steady. Foggy feels another laugh come up his throat for no reason and he makes a mental note to tell Josie to cut him off sooner next time, celebration or not, and tries to keep from tripping over the sidewalk.

He rounds a corner, and then another, approaching alley way after alley way. Foggy's seen them all hundreds of times, growing up and playing in the streets, but he still feels compelled to look down each one. They've always been dark and mysterious, even in daylight. His mind then wanders to other dark and mysterious things, or rather figures, that have recently showed up in his life. Maybe he'll run into the Devil tonight, he muses. It always seems to happen when he least expects it.

Another glance down the next alley confirms his suspicion. Foggy's spent weeks, months actually, studying those horns from every angle he can catch in the newspaper and trash tabloids. He'd know them anywhere, and right now he sees them in the alley way. It's just the barest catch of the light from a street lamp but it still knocks the breath out of him when he realizes.

He should tell Josie to never give him another drink, ever. He shouldn't handle this kind of situation when he's drunk.

He shouldn't handle this kind of situation at all.

Foggy's feet move before his mind does, taking him into the darkness of the alley and over to the man sitting on the ground, back against the wall of one of the buildings. The Devil is clutching his left arm with his right hand tightly, like he's trying to stop the bleeding with the pressure. The leather around it is torn and his arm - pale, sickly pale - is swollen. His mask is on, as always, and his jaw is covered in small bruises and cuts. Not as severe as his arm, at least. 

Standing there, looking down at the man, Foggy thinks he looks weak. He doesn't look anything like the man from the papers, nothing like what Foggy's seen from there scarce encounters. He's vulnerable and Foggy just wants to wrap him up in a blanket and give him some hot chocolate to ease the pain, if only the mental kind.

The Devil doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge Foggy, until Foggy speaks.

"I did tell you we needed to meet under different circumstances -" Foggy's speech is slurred just slightly and he can't fight the giddy smile off his face, "- but I don't think I said you were the one who needed to be inpass- incompass- incapacitated."

The Devil does respond to that with a sharp laugh at Foggy's words. "Had to keep you on your toes. Wouldn't do to be predictable."

 _It'd make it a lot easier on me_ , Foggy thinks, but laughs back at the man instead.

"Another bad man?" He asks, and the man nods.

"Something like that."

Foggy nods. He doesn't know what to say, aside from _I'm sorry, but you ask for this_.Words escape him when he thinks about the man, and seeing him bleeding out on the ground of an alley has him at a complete loss. He's normally full of words, especially tipsy and high off of happiness, but hearing the Devil speak so casually and comfortable with Foggy has him feeling small, meek.

So instead he crouches in front of the Devil. He looks over his wounds, the cut on his arm, to distract his thoughts. It's bad, but not bad enough to need stitches. Maybe some glue if Foggy's careful about how he applies it.

He doesn't ask if it's a knife or a blade or what-have-you. The Devil could probably take on actual ninjas and Foggy wouldn't be surprised. The padding on the suit is thick, and idly his mind strays back to thoughts of _Is he really that well built underneath it all?_

Bad thoughts. Not the time or place.

"Can you move?" Foggy stands up, pushing himself on his own knee.

"If necessary."

"Think you can make it a half mile?"

"Probably."

Foggy nods and then holds out his hand for the Devil to take. He hoists the man up but isn't nearly as strong as the other, and he can still feel the warm rush of alcohol coursing through his system. He stumbles back and closes his eyes tight, prepared for the hard press of the concrete against his backside, but arms - strong arms - catch him just in time. Instinctively he clutches at them, feels the rough leather beneath his finger tips, and oh-

"Oh," He says, breathlessly. He looks up at the Devil. They aren't too different in height, but he can see the tilt of the man's head as he regards Foggy. He's assessing, but not judging. His thoughts go back to bad - they stray on where the Devil rests his hands; the curve of Foggy's waist, the dip of his lower back. He vaguley thinks of his binded chest pressed against the man's overly padded one, even if they're separated by layers the heat still seeps through and makes Foggy shudder.

He thinks of stopping, but just as soon as those thoughts came they disappear. He blanks, and licks his lips before leaning in.

Foggy's mind replays Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man kiss scene. Both of their heads are tilted, drowning in the sensation, and Foggy feels like Mary Jane; clutching onto the Devil's mask, palms pressed against his cheeks, just wanting to pull it off and see what's underneath the mystery that is the man before him, to make him more of a reality and less like a daydream.

But all of a sudden, it ends. The Devil is pulling back but his hands still grip Foggy's sides. He's breathing heavily and Foggy knows that can't just be from his prior physical exhaustion. 

"Oh my God," He says, bleary eyed but then rapidly blinking as realization sets in. "I. I should not have done that." 

Foggy's hands slide down, away from the mask and onto the Devil's chest.

He just kissed the Devil of Hell's Kitchen in a dirty alley in the middle of the night. He just kissed a man who beats up other men, who is currently bleeding out from his arm, onto Foggy, and probably over everything else within immediate contact.

"I..." He tries and fails to croak out an _I'm sorry_ , that he's just drunk and stupid and should probably rethink everything in his life up until this point. He should just run, hide, spare himself and the Devil the humiliation and the rejection.

He goes to turn, but the Devil keeps him there, keeps him steady.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" The Devil says, breaking Foggy out of his self deprivation.

Foggy wants to laugh. He feels like laughing at this man - this incredible man - but doesn't. He mutters, "No, no, it wasn't bad at all - but you. I'm drunk. I shouldn't do things...I shouldn't do these kinda things when I'm drunk." He shouldn't do things like kissing masked vigilantes, ever, no matter how hot Mary Jane makes it look.

The Devil hums, "I agree."

Right. Okay. They're on the same page, at least. Foggy turns again and this time the Devil does let him go. He steadies himself as best he can.

"Like- Like I said. Half a mile. I can patch you up. Unless you have a person I need to call?"

"No, she's out of town." The Devil says. Foggy tries not to let the word _she_ get to him, tries and fails not to overthink. _She's probably a girlfriend. She probably likes, if not loves, him a whole lot. She patches him up and they probably kiss a lot and I just kissed her boyfriend oh my God_ \--

"I'll follow you." The Devil's voice brings him out of his mind and the man gestures towards Foggy. "Don't worry. Just lead the way."

He doesn't ask exactly how he's going to follow Foggy, but he assumes it'll be via rooftop jumping. Even in his condition, his legs are working fine, so Foggy doesn't look back to see him disappear and just focuses on his own legs to take him back to his mom's.

\--

They meet in the alley next to Foggy's mom's house, where their second encounter was. Foggy hauls two first aid kits, filled with bandages and witch hazel and medical tape and glue. He considers the vodka sitting in the back cabinet of the kitchen, considers using it as a strong antiseptic than the witch hazel he has on hand, but decides against it.

The Devil is slumped much like how he was before, against a brick wall and clutching his arms. Only this time he waits for Foggy underneath the fire escape. He keeps his eyes down as Foggy comes around the side of the building with the first aid kits. 

As he gets to work - cleaning the now puffy wound of his arm first, pouring the witch hazel directly over it - Foggy keeps his own eyes focused on the task at hand. The disappointment is deep in his bones, ignited by the kiss he forced on the man and by the straying, back burner thoughts of the Devil having someone who usually does this for him. 

Maybe she's just a friend, he tells himself. He's normally not jealous. With anyone else this wouldn't bother him. But it's the Devil. The Devil fights for what he feels is right and curves away from the path paved by the law, following his own instincts. He's so good natured and earnest, from what Foggy's both seen and read, that he can't be too upset by his methods now. He's one of the first real people Foggy has encountered, doing what he wants and feels is right.

Foggy can relate. Even though the two goals are complete, polar opposites, it tugs at his heart all the same to see the man be who he is. 

Is that why he kissed him? Did he feel that connection, that bond, however small? He can't make sense of it right now, possibly too pissed off his rocks to carry a reasonable train of thought. It could have been purely physical, because anyone with eyes can see how nice the man looks, close or far, hidden and cloaked with a heavy scent of aftershave on his stubbled chin.

He keeps quiet while patching the man up, wrapping the gauze around his arm, then tending to the smaller cuts on his face. He doesn't see any more cuts through the fabric of his suit, so he focuses on dabbing each mark he sees at eye level with witch hazel and antibiotic ointment.

The Devil, all the while, hasn't made a peep either. He doesn't grunt or groan and doesn't push Foggy away when he mindlessly tends to the smaller, barely there cuts on his face. 

_He seems almost lax and content_ , Foggy thinks wistfully.

Once the final poke of ointment is placed, Foggy starts to pack up.

He nearly drops the roll of gauze when the Devil says, "Thank you."

"It's no problem," Foggy says, letting a smile slip onto his face. "But like I said, we need to stop meeting like this. I'm not big on anyone getting hurt, whether it's you or the douchebag that you're chasing."

The Devil doesn't say anything further and Foggy shuts the first aid kits with a sigh. He glances at the Devil and sees a frown now gracing the man's mouth. 

"What's wrong? Aside from your flesh wounds, that is." He teases, trying to crack a joke, but can see it's failing miserably.

"We should stop meeting." 

Foggy stops, actually dropping the gauze this time. It rolls down the alley without a sound and Foggy doesn't care. He can't be hearing the words correctly.

"Did you say stop meeting?" Foggy knows he sounds as small as he feels. They've only met three times- How-

"I did," The Devil confirms. He looks like he's grimacing as he stands, maybe from the pain or maybe because of Foggy's reaction. "I'm dangerous. I don't want you messed up in this, even if by accident." He sounds remorseful, guilty. "It's-"

"It's not you, it's me?" Foggy finishes for him. He's looking down at the rolled out gauze. It's just like he feels all of a sudden; run out and empty, no support. Not quite the same if you try to put it back together.

But he should've known. The man is a hooligan, technically. He's not straight cut, he's not fragile. He's not the type to want to hang around Foggy. Even if brief passing, people know the sort of person you are just from a few glimpses - what the Devil saw in Foggy is not what Foggy saw in the Devil.

"I get it, I do-" He picks up the kits and pats the Devil on the shoulder. "There's no hard feelings. You do you." He tries to sound casual and nonchalant. He tries not to let the disappointment spread even further within himself. "Just, be careful, okay?"

Quick, like a band-aid.

The Devil doesn't flinch at the pat. Foggy can't read his emotions through the mask, but he feels like the biggest fuck up in the world, even without the pitiful gaze on him that he can imagine the man having. 

"Thank you, again," The Devil turns to leave and Foggy shuts his eyes, just like the other times. He doesn't want to watch the man walk away, because it'll be too real and if he can't see it, it can't exist, right?

He might come back, right?

\--

Never let it be said that Foggy knew what he was doing.

It's been months since the alley way. It's been months and months of drowning himself in his studies. Months and months of taking testosterone and gaining back the confidence he lost that night. 

Months and months since he's read any article involving the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Foggy admits he had an unhealthy obsession. He focused too much and too hard and didn't take enough time for himself that he needed. He was a mess of a man, and now he likes to think of himself as just a man, with a mess on the side.

He walks into Landman and Zack with his head held high and a smile on his face. He greets the receptionist with a cheery voice, feels ecstatic to not have it break, and tells her he's here for his first day of being an intern. He'll be doing coffee and bagel runs and a lot of organizing, but hopefully he'll charm his way to the top. 

Eventually. 

Maybe.

She takes him up the elevator and through the office corridors. He sees a few people, none of which he recognizes. Lawyers all look the same; clean and chiseled and ready to take on the world.

Foggy, regretfully, has trimmed his growing patches of beard down to practically nothing in order to attain this job. Sacrifices must be made, he sadly admits. 

The secretary stops in front of a small door - too small to be anything but a closet. Right before the woman is about to open it and make her way inside, the knob turns and out comes a man, wearing red tinted sunglasses and poking a walking cane through the passage way.

"Oh, Mr. Murdock. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?" The secretary moves out of the way for the man as he walks out of the closet. "We've got a new intern today that I'm hoping you can show around."

Foggy steels himself for another greeting, forcing himself not to thrust his hand out towards the other man. "Hello, Mr. Murdock. My name's Foggy - Franklin Nelson, actually, but everyone calls me Foggy." 

"Foggy?" The man, Mr. Murdock, says. He smiles and looks towards the direction of his voice. "Interesting nickname."

"Interesting glasses," is Foggy's response. He wants to slap himself immediately - one of the stupidest things to say, especially to a blind person! "Ah, I'm sorry, that was -"

"No, no," Mr. Murdock laughs, light and fond. "No, they are interesting. I'm told they're red in certain lighting. It wouldn't do to be predictable and go with black, now would it?"

Foggy feels his heart stutter for a moment at those words. He swallows and looks at Mr. Murdock - knows the man can't see him, knows the man can't get around without the stick in his grasp. He's blind, obviously _blind_. 

_It wouldn't do to be predictable._

"No...No, it wouldn't."

**Author's Note:**

> Being transgender is rough, buddy.
> 
> Some self indulgent Daredevil/Foggy and Foggy whump. 
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? I'm all ears.


End file.
